The War of Art
by Face of Poe
Summary: Thrawn and his art are just always complicating life for poor Captain Pellaeon...
1. The War of Art

**A/N: **These are just two silly one-shots featuring our favorite Imperials- Thrawn and Pellaeon- and the complications Thrawn's art-obsession causes for the poor captain…

**Setting: **8 ABY, _Chimaera_**  
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**The War of Art **

"So this is it."

He tilted his head sideways, wondering if the masterpiece of it would come through from a different angle; it didn't.

"This is it. _Killik Twilight_," Thrawn sighed lovingly in a way that Gilad Pellaeon hoped to never again hear from the supreme commander of the Imperial Navy.

"And this cost… how much?"

"Fifteen million credits." Pellaeon was hard-pressed to keep his jaw in place, but the grand admiral must have read his shock in his eyes because he added, in a soft voice, "Give or take."

_Give or take?_

Thrawn sighed again. "You can't put a price on art, Captain." _Hadn't he just done that? _"And this particular piece- it is a lost art, Alderaanian moss painting."

"Oh. It's very…"

"Brilliantly conceived?"

"…small."

A sidelong glance laden with cool exasperation shut his mouth firmly. "Captain, there is no correlation between size and greatness in the realm of art."

"Yes, Admiral."

"Let me tell you a little bit about the artist, Ob Khaddor…"

X-X

Forty-five minutes later, a blessing in the form of an in-person message from Commander Seyif interrupted Thrawn's musings on Ob Khaddor, moss painting in general, and, the relevance of which Pellaeon was still trying to comprehend, fine Alderaanian cuisine. He stepped into the outer office for the brief interlude with relief. "Commander?"

"We have just made the jump to lightspeed, Captain; we arrive at Yaga Minor in sixteen standard hours."

"Excellent." He heard footsteps from within the inner office. "Commander," he hissed urgently, "hurry, you still have time to-"

"Ah! Commander Seyif- do come in. I was just showing Captain Pellaeon my fine acquisition and giving him a little valuable history of the piece."

Pellaeon patted Seyif sympathetically on the shoulder, and then, with a sigh, trailed the other two back into the inner office. "I _hate_ art…" he muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Captain?"

"I- excuse me, Admiral, I was just saying that, as Commander Seyif is here, there is no senior officer on the bridge. Perhaps I should…" he gestured over his shoulder.

Seyif shot him a look of betrayal. Thrawn looked thoughtful. "Right you are, Captain. Why don't you go ahead-"

"Yes?" he asked hopefully.

"-and comm Commander Tre'pin and have him report early for duty."

Pellaeon's face fell, though he tried to hide it by looking down to fumble for his comlink. "Yes, sir." He did so, keenly aware of the smugly knowing look in the Admiral's glowing red eyes the entire time.

"Now," Thrawn clapped his hands together. "Let's recap for the Commander, shall we?

"Alderaanian moss painting was pioneered by Ob Khaddor, and it is not painting at all; in fact, the proper terminology is that one _designs_ a moss painting. Because it is an organic art form, it must be kept in a constant state of semi-moisture, and a small humidifying device on the back accomplishes this quite effectively. When Ob Khaddor first perfected the method…"


	2. The Art of War

**Setting: **30 ABY, Imperial Palace, Bastion

**The Art of War**

"Sir?"

Gilad Pellaeon's aide trotted up to him midway through a stroll in his private garden, and the admiral sighed resignedly. Even at a time of relative peace, while the galaxy was still recovering from the traumas of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, he still seemed unable to find five minutes at a time for himself. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"There's, ah… there's someone here to see you, sir."

"Might you be a trifle more specific?"

The junior officer swallowed audibly. "Ah, yes, Admiral. He's a Chiss…"

"Oh," Pellaeon glanced at his pocket chrono and shrugged easily. "He's early, then. No matter, I'm free now and I don't fancy any delegation from the Ascendancy likes to be kept waiting. Escort him to my office, would you?"

His aide looked like he wanted to say something else, but before Pellaeon could ask, he nodded quickly and hurried off. The admiral stared after him in mild bemusement for a moment before turning and heading down a different path, taking the fastest route to his office.

As he walked, he contemplated the dull monotony of life in a time without war. It was certainly preferable to the constant struggle and strife which the Empire had known only too well in recent decades; nevertheless, handling these diplomatic matters had never been his favorite task, but Chiss sensitivities left him hesitant to place his trust in any of the Moffs. They, in turn, seemed to think he had some mystical abilities at understanding that suspicious and, quite frankly, xenophobic people, due to his time under the command of-

"Grand Admiral Thrawn!"

He stopped, slack-jawed, in the doorway of his office, staring at the Chiss sitting in _his_ chair, and wondering if he'd finally gone senile or simply insane.

"Admiral Pellaeon," the all-too-familiar smooth and cultured voice responded, gesturing to the empty seats on the opposite side of the desk. The seats for _visitors_. "Have a seat. My apologies for the sudden intrusion."

"Ah…"

"Sit, Admiral. Please." Pellaeon did so, motions mechanical, droid-like, wondering if it was more worthwhile to summon assistance now and risk being considered crazy and unfit for duty, or to simply let the hallucination pass. "You are not hallucinating, Gilad," the Thrawn-specter said, lips quirked in dry amusement.

_So the ghost could read his mind. Touché, insanity. Touché. _

Then again… the Imperial Navy and a number of Moffs had been tricked once into thinking Thrawn had returned, even though Pellaeon had insisted countless times that he had watched him die before his very eyes.

"Nor am I an imposter. You _did_ see me perish at the hands of Rukh, more than twenty years ago now."

_Sweet ever-loving Force… _

"I am a clone, Gilad."

_Oh_. _Wait, he didn't think that before the Thrawn-ghost said it. Was it… possible? _

"A… clone?" he queried carefully. Thrawn inclined his head once, slowly. "Where have you been?"

"Assisting the first line of defense in the war effort among the Empire of the Hand and the Ascendancy. It is not important."

"Sounds pretty important," he muttered, torn between still contemplating his own sanity and being mildly bitter that Thrawn hadn't returned to help _him_ in the war effort.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Sir." He swallowed heavily. "What can I do for you?"

The Chiss looked as delighted as any Chiss _ever_ looked that he'd asked. "As a matter of fact, I came to inquire about my art collection."

That stopped him short, though he supposed he had no place to be surprised, considering the Grand Admiral's eccentricities all those years ago. "It's… mostly in a museum, here in the Imperial Palace…" he responded cautiously.

"Mostly?" Thrawn returned mildly.

"Well… over the years, some pieces have been loaned out to other exhibits, a few regrettably destroyed or missing in the chaos of near-constant war…"

"And _Killik Twilight_?"

Pellaeon's eyes widened fractionally, and he willed the panic not to set in. "I, ah… don't have it anymore."

"Oh? Destroyed?"

It was _so_ tempting to lie and say that it had been… but Grand Admiral Thrawn had always had the uncanny ability to read such things in others' faces and voices…

"I gave it away."

A steady silence descended between them, Thrawn's purple lips pursed lightly. "You gave it away."

"Yes, sir."

"My fifteen million credit painting."

Pellaeon smiled weakly. "Technically, it isn't painting at all… sir." Thrawn stared at him, expression unreadable. "As I understand it, one _designs_ a moss painting…" Still, the Chiss said nothing, and the admiral finally sighed and gave up, resigning himself to the slow and painful death that was sure to follow. "I gave it to Leia Organa Solo last year. It used to hang in the Royal Palace on Alderaan."

"Leia Solo." Pellaeon nodded. "Admiral, do you remember the days you spent in command of the _Chimaera_ twenty-two years ago, while I ventured personally onto the utterly forsaken planet of Tatooine to acquire that painting."

"I do, sir."

"I wonder if you remember _from whom_ I was acquiring it?"

He winced. "As I recall, it was, in fact, Leia Solo."

"Hm." Thrawn fell into a contemplative silence that lasted about a minute this time. Then he straightened, a new sense of resolve to his bearing. "It won't be a problem."

"No?"

"Of course not. I'll simply get it back."

Pellaeon frowned. "How, sir?"

"Intelligence suggests that the Solos have not made a permanent residence yet and are, in fact, on assorted missions for Chief of State Omas in the interests of refugee resettlement."

"How could you know that?"

"Why, I just looked it up," he pointed at the computer console in the left corner of Pellaeon's desk.

He scowled. "So you already knew when you walked in here that I didn't have it."

Thrawn shook off the question. "As I said, it is no matter. We'll simply ambush the _Millennium Falcon_ at their next designated assignment and-"

"Ambush!" Pellaeon cut him off, alarmed. "Admiral, we're allies now. I _gave_ her the painting." Thrawn stared blankly. "You can't just hunt them down, we're at peace. You'll start a galactic incident."

"You're saying I can't have _Killik Twilight _back, Gilad?"

Inwardly cringing, he set his resolve and met the glowing eyes carefully. "I'm afraid so, sir."

"Hm." He sighed wistfully. "I am displeased, Admiral Pellaeon. Most displeased."

"Yes, sir."

"I am going to go visit what works you haven't squandered in my absence."

"Yes, sir."

Pellaeon watched him go, still not entirely positive that he hadn't hallucinated the whole thing. It seemed unlikely though- he didn't think his mind could _ever_ formulate such a bizarre encounter_. _If anyone was unbalanced, it was probably the Chiss who had just left his office. They always did say that clones were a little crazy.

Or maybe it was just Thrawn.


End file.
